Charging (Gold Hockey #10) - Elise Faber

One

Charlotte

“Damn,” she muttered, sitting down at her computer and slipping off her heels.

They’d lost.

Her first year as General Manager, and she hadn’t been able to get the job done.

She made a show of checking her emails, of sending a few notes to their big sponsors and to the board, thanking them for their support of the team and for a good season, but in reality, all she could think was that she’d lost.

Fuck, she hated losing.

Had hated it from the first time she’d lost the Chubby Bunny contest when she’d been a Daisy at Girl Scout camp.

She still hated it.

Hell, she’d picked a career whose main focus was building an organization that could win as much as possible, that’s how much she hated losing.

What she hated even more?

Being the only female GM in the league and losing in the second round of the playoffs.

God, was it too much to ask for the Cup, just one more time?

Probably.

She sighed. The Gold had won the previous season, and again two years before that. Two championships in four years was still a hell of a record.

It just . . . wasn’t her record.

“Fuck,” she muttered, shutting down her computer. She’d left the locker room long ago, after thanking the players for their hard work, letting them know she was so proud of them. It would take some time for the sting of the loss to fade, but they were a good group. They would be fine. After seeing to the team, she had stopped to see the training staff and the support team, reiterating their importance to the organization. Then she’d stayed in her office, the door open for hours, open and available for anyone who had needed a quick word.

And there had been a lot of them.

But that was her job. To keep all the moving pieces moving, to make sure no balls were dropped. To ensure that everyone felt valued and supported, even during the tough times.

Though emotionally taxing, she loved her job, even on nights like tonight.

Still, she was tired, and the revolving door of players and staff had trickled off. The arena had grown quiet, its halls empty.

Time to go.

Sighing, she shoved her feet back into her heels. Since that was basically akin to torture after wearing them all day, she was not thrilled when the knock came at the door, but she still called, “Come in,” while continuing to pack her bag.

If only she’d known who was on the other side.

Unfortunately, her superpowers didn’t extend to X-ray vision and seeing through walls—which meant when the man opened the door and pushed inside her office, Charlotte didn’t have the chance to gird her loins.

Like she’d been doing all season.

Because—also unfortunately—she’d made the decision early on in her tenure to bring Logan Walker to the Gold. He was ferociously talented at defense. Big and strong and fast, he’d made an excellent replacement for Stefan Barie this season.

He was also her ex.

And just being in the same room with him had her body remembering exactly why he’d become her ex.

Cocky smile.

Sexy body.

Flaming chemistry.

But not ready to settle down.

As one might expect, take a young Charlotte Harris, add in one cocky, sexy, scorching Logan Walker, and the result had been a broken heart.

Not just broken. Shattered.

The pieces scattered to the four corners of the earth.

In case anyone was wondering, young intern meets rookie hockey player did not make for a happy ending.

But that was fine. It was better. She’d gotten tougher and stronger, and she’d promised herself that she would never let anyone in that deeply again, never allow herself to be as vulnerable.

“I knew you’d be like this,” he said. And fuck if that gruff voice didn’t send a shiver down her spine.

She ignored him, continued packing her computer bag. He’d get to the point, or he wouldn’t, and she’d keep doing what she did best. Putting her head down and charging forward.

“Always hate losing.”

His voice was closer now, but she still didn’t look up, even though the spicy scent of his aftershave was drifting through the air, tickling her nose, making her fingers clench on her bag.

No.

Ignoring him and his sexy body, his sexy voice, his sexy scent, she packed a bunch of shit she didn’t need, all so she didn’t have to look at him.

She reached for a pad of sticky notes—

Warm, calloused hands on hers.

“You don’t need a sixth pad,” he said, that voice curling over her shoulders, sending heat between her thighs.

She jerked away. “You don’t know what